Author’s Note: This review is part of a four-part series in which we are discussing Wes Anderson’s recent quartet of short films based on the work of Roald Dahl. While these reviews are as independent of each other as the films, they still exist in dialogue with one another, so for the sake of consistency, you may read the previous review of The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar in order to contextualize this review within the broader conversation.
In his wonderfully ambitious endeavour to adapt four of Roald Dahl’s short stories, Wes Anderson has moved onto one of the author’s lesser-known works, albeit one that has achieved a considerable level of notoriety as being one of his most unexpectedly dark. The Swan, which Dahl was inspired to write after reading a news article about a group of schoolboys that found their mindless mischief turning into an instance of cold-blooded murder, is undeniably quite a strange text in both style and execution, which is why it seemed so peculiar that Anderson would choose this particular story for such a project, especially considering how The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar was considerably more lightweight, at least in comparison to this very bleak story. However, there is something quite special about this film, and Anderson brings the same unquenchable curiosity to the proceedings as he has for the past 25 years, and while it is undeniably much shorter and more compact than just about anything he has made yet, it has the same sense of vivacity and complexity that has simmered beneath the surface of nearly every one of his films – the only difference is that this is clearly part of some bigger experiment, the nature of which remains to be seen, with the choice to not only separate these four stories (rather than presenting them as a singular anthology) but release them on different days, making it all the more engaging and enthralling, which proves that, despite criticisms of his twee style and often stilted approach to narrative, that Anderson continues to push the boundaries of his craft in exciting ways.
17 minutes is not a long amount of time for any filmmaker to put together a story, but it does have enough space for certain ideas to be fleshed out, especially with a strong concept and a decent director at the helm. The Swan is by far the shortest film that Anderson has directed (at least in terms of standalone works – there are a few short films designed as companion pieces to longer works), and unlike the film that preceded it, there wasn’t a feasible opportunity to expand on the story, since it is more of an extended anecdote than a fully-formed narrative in its own right, which is how the film makes such a substantial difference in terms of how it deconstructs it narrative. Anderson realizes these ideas through a very particular directorial approach – he presents the story as a long monologue, delivered by a singular actor, who voices all the characters and essentially serves as the overall guide through this peculiar story. Taking his cue from the oral tradition, Anderson proves himself to be quite an engaging filmmaker, and while it is undeniably simple (with the entire story once again being filmed on a single set), and driven by the same sense of artifice that has been embraced during this project, his prowess as a storyteller has never been more profound, especially in the smallest and most intricate details we find scattered throughout this film, which is a far more engaging piece than we initially imagined. A lengthy monologue filmed almost entirely in a single shot (credit must once again go to the consistently brilliant cinematographer NAME, who is once again the very definition of the consummate professional through his frequent collaborations with Anderson), we find that there is always something interesting on screen, which balances out the sometimes overly simple storyline.
As we discussed in the previous discussion, Anderson works with a small cast of actors that recur throughout the four films, and The Swan has an even smaller cast, essentially consisting of Rupert Friend (accompanied by a couple of background actors who remain wordless, and Ralph Fiennes appearing at the end, reprising his role as the fictionalized version of Dahl), who has been circling becoming one of the director’s most consistent collaborators, and who finally earns a leading role. Friend is a terrific actor, someone who has not quite found a niche within the industry, but who is always excellent and committed, regardless of the role he is being asked to play. This short film offers him the chance to try out a slightly bigger role within Anderson’s world without needing to carry a longer piece. This isn’t to disparage his gifts – a 17-minute-long monologue is not an easy achievement. Not only is he asked to speak continuously, but he also needs to embody every one of these characters, using only his voice and bodily movements to paint a picture of the events that take place throughout this story (since the set is quite sparse and the props are kept to a minimum), and in turn, he delivers a spellbinding performance that is complex, nuanced and extraordinarily layered, despite the brevity of the film in which he is appearing. There is something quite profound about a performer who is willing to go to the very edges of his talents to deliver a striking performance, and while Friend has not yet needed to prove himself as an actor, The Swan is a terrific feather in his cap when it comes to showcasing his extraordinary gifts.
How this film will fit into this quartet of films is not clear – it is starkly different in terms of length and execution from the previous film, but it is also one that has some clear correlations, which are not only indicative of Anderson’s style, but there is something deeper that connects these stories, and unearthing the mystery of why these four stories, in particular, were chosen, as well as discovering the connective tissue that binds them together, is part of the experience, and The Swan is a very audacious piece that brings a lot more complexity to the discussion than we may have initially imagined. These four films seem to be forming something of a puzzle, a quartet of wildly different narratives that share various qualities, but it’s the differences between them that keep us most engaged and invested, and we find ourselves being driven to want to explore the worlds in which they exist, which is always an exciting challenge, especially since cinema has become increasingly insistent on our status as mere observers, passively viewing stories without being asked to offer much interpretation of our own. The Swan is a dark moral parable masquerading as a quirky comedy, and it shows that Anderson can do exceptionally well with a more bleak tragicomedy, especially one that has as deep and unsettling a message – and we’ll have to see if this trend with continue with the subsequent two films, or if they will change course and go in an entirely different direction. All we can hope is that they will maintain the same level of complexity as this one, which contains some of the director’s most provocative ideas.
The Postmodern Pelican 